Alpha's Wildfire

Blackthorn Academy loomed over the forest like a fortress, built to protect old money, older bloodlines, and the kind of secrets nobody admitted existed. There was one unspoken rule.

Never challenge an Alpha-born.

And Izzy had broken that rule six times already.

She pulled her hood lower as she hurried across the damp grass. The bell had rung ten minutes ago, which meant the halls would already be emptying for class. Good. Fewer people asking questions and fewer judgmental stares from people she didn’t give a shit about. Her boots hit the grey, stone steps two at a time as she slipped through the iron gates, breathing in the familiar scent of old books, polished floors, and suffocating discipline.

Goddess above, she hated this place.

Blackthorn wasn’t just a school. It was a breeding ground for perfect wolves - future Alphas, Lunas, strategists, healers and warriors. Everyone here came from important bloodlines and wealthy packs. The kind of people born already knowing where they belonged in the world and the truth? The truth was that Izzy had spent her whole life feeling like she belonged nowhere.

Students brushed past her in their pristine uniforms, all black skirts and pressed blazers with silver striping. They all looked glamorous enough to be cast in some supernatural movie on the television. Izzy tugged at the sleeve of her faded, second-hand jacket and headed straight for the cafeteria. By almost every lunchtime, Izzy had at least three goals. Today's were simple.

Don't get caught.

Don't get expelled.

And definitely don't think about the hickey on her neck.

“Hey, Kidio. Miss lunch again?”

Mrs. Kip barely looked up from the apples she was cutting for desert later, though the amusement in her voice was unmistakable. Izzy leaned against the countertop and smiled at the chef.

“Maybe.”

The older woman huffed dramatically before disappearing toward the back kitchen. A moment later, she returned carrying a white takeout box and Izzy almost became weak at how good it smelled.

“Roasted chicken, my famous tatoes, and salad - because you need the nutrients. Better eat before you pass out in combat training.”

Mrs. Kip announced, pointing her gloved hand at Izzy as she took the box.

“You’re my favorite person in the world, Mrs. Kip!”

“A bright teenage girl shouldn’t have an old rag as a best friend.”

Izzy laughed softly and opened the lid, tearing into the food without any shame. She’d barely swallowed her first bite when she noticed Mrs. Kip staring at her neck. Shit. She instinctively reached for the collar of her blazer.

“You know…”

She finally said while stirring a pot with one hand. Oh boy, here it comes.

“One day you’re going to meet your mate, and these little adventures of yours aren’t going to fly anymore.”

Izzy snorted.

“Mrs. Kip, I don’t think there’s a single person alive capable of tolerating me long-term. Never mind a mate!”

The old woman laughed at that, though concern still lingered behind her eyes.

“You keep putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, kidio.”

Izzy bit into another potato, shrugging lightly.

“I like having fun.”

“Theres a difference between fun and defiance, Izzy.”

Silence settled between them for a moment. It wasn’t awkward. It never was with Mrs. Kip. She was one of the only people at Blackthorn who looked at Izzy without suspicion or disdain. She was an orphan and almost everyone at Blackthorn thought she murdered her parents. Unfortunately, that wasn't where the rumours ended about her. Izzy remembered none of her youth or the case surrounding her parents, but then she didn’t really need to because everyone else did it for her. Almost weekly she was reminded of her sorry past.

Izzy smiled as she thought about combat class coming up. It was one class where she really exelled. Fighting felt easy and natural and she liked the workout. In fact, somewhere between being flat like an ironing board and teenagehood, the boys stopped looking at her like the weird orphan girl and started looking at her like something else entirely. Years of combat training had sharpened her body into lean muscle and dangerous curves, and Izzy quickly learned attention could be just as useful as fists. This did nothing for her reputation, but at least she got some sort of release from the feeling of being continuously ignored.

She had to endure seven schools in five years.

Still, she’d kept her grades high enough to earn university offers. Goddess above, Izzy really, really wanted something bigger than pack politics and werewolf hierarchies. She used to dream of what it might be like to escape it all, to run off into the sunset someplace far away and take on a new identity. The truth though? Blackthorn Academy had offered a scholarship with housing, all meals and even a weekly stipend included. So here she was. Learning how to become the perfect wolf. The thought alone irritated her.

“No need to look at me like that, Mrs. Kip.”

Izzy muttered, grabbing another bite of chicken and popping it in her mouth.

“I survive just fine on my own.”

Mrs. Kip leaned against the counter, folding her arms.

“Are they bothering you again in class?”

Izzy thought briefly about the whispers. The looks. Laurent Grey and his constant need to make her life miserable. Instead, she smirked.

“Nah. I just enjoy disappearing occasionally.”

Mrs. Kip didn’t look convinced. Izzy flashed her a grin anyway before grabbing her food and slipping back into the hallway.

The academy corridors stretched endlessly into the distance and obscenely long windows overlooked the forest outside. Through the classroom doors, she could hear the muffled drone of teachers lecturing and students pretending to care. It was the final class before combat training and everyone was already exhausted. Izzy walked slowly toward the combat pairing board, chewing on a chicken leg as she scanned the list of names posted against the wall. She pointed her finger down along the page until she found her name. And her eyes shot across to who she would be going up against in class.

“Well, shitballs!”

She muttered under her breath, staring at the name. All of a sudden the chicken didn’t sit so nicely in her stomach. A girl she had never met before that shared the same combat class noticed the name too next to Izzy's.

Laurent Grey

The letters seemed to blur for a second. The petite, brunette girl beside her looked over.

“Oh damn.”

She winced.

“You’re dead.”

Izzy snorted.

“I’ve survived worse.”

The girl’s face didn’t change.

“No.”

She whispered.

“I mean him.”